Notes on a Program
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Skittery and Oscar find a way to occupy themselves during a music recital. Rated M for language and sexual themes.


Disclaimer: I wish I could say I owned Newsies...but I don't. Also, the views held by Skittery and/or Oscar do not reflect my own views.

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The music students at Columbia College were required to attend at least five music recitals at school each year. For people who chose to constantly be around music, it would seem this would be a simple, if not enjoyable, assignment. But when you waited until the last minute and were only stuck with the crappy recitals I could at times be pure torture. How do I know this? Because I, Jacob "Skittery" Singer am a procrastinator and, by definition, I wait until the last minute for everything. Luckily for me my boyfriend, Oscar, is the same way. This is how we found ourselves attending a showing of the Columbia College Strings Club (a "select group of twelve individuals who embody the spirit and soul of the stringed instruments" according to the program) at 8:00pm on a Friday night. Yahoo.

Please, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against orchestral music or the string family. Heck, I took viola lessons for a bit when I was younger. But I enjoy having the music on in the background while I do other things. Simply sitting there and watching them move their bows back and forth and back and forth...it just gets old. It would be completely different if you could hold a conversation as the music played, but there is simply no way to do that. Or is there...?

As the group started its second piece, I felt a program being shoved into my lap by Oscar. I looked at him, and, though his focus was straightforward, his hand was taping the program which still lay in my lap. Glancing down I saw he had written something:

_The cello player is hot. _

I rolled my eyes are wrote back:

_Which one? There are three of them._

_The one in the blue shirt and gold tie. Seriously, I'd screw him in a heartbeat._

_Well, I'm certainly feeling loved._

_Oh, boo-hoo ,you pussy._

_Well I wouldn't mind banging the violin player second from the right._

_Ew, are you for real? That guy is in my Theory II class. He's a freak. Honestly, he owns all of this fucking_ Star Wars_ memorabilia. On Halloween he wore one of those white Darth Vader masks to class._

_Darth Vader only wears the black mask. The stormtroopers wear the white masks._

_...Ok, the fact that you actually knew that scares me._

_Why? Everyone knows that._

_Bullshit, but it doesn't really matter. Point is, in ten years the guy is probably going to be living in his parents' basement fighting with his equally pathetic friends over who is a higher level Dungeon Master._

_Dungeon Masters don't have levels._

_...Dude, seriously, stop that or I'll have to dump you._

_What? You never once in your life played D&D?_

_No, I'm normal and normal people generally do normal things. D&D does _not_ fall into the category of "normal things." _

_Whatever. I think you're just jealous of that guy._

_Pshaw, like I'd ever be jealous of a Trekkie._

_Trekkies are fans of_ Star Trek_, not_ Star Wars_. And before you say anything, it's not sad that I know that because that's common knowledge._

_It really isn't, but I'll let it slide. For now. He's still a geek._

_So are you. I mean, you just wrote out the word "pshaw."_

_That's not geeky, just cool._

_You also watch_ Aqua Teen Hunger Force

_Your point being?_

_Uh, sweetie, it doesn't get much geekier than that._

_What are you talking about!?!? That's one of the greatest TV shows in the history of the universe._

_It's a cartoon about talking food._

_Oh fuck you._

_That's for later, sweetie._

_Yeah, that's what your mom told me last night._

_What?_

_...That was just wrong on so many levels._

_How so?_

_Well A) My mom left when I was seven; B) You're gay; C) You're my boyfriend. See, that's three levels on which that was so wrong._

_Ok, so I'm going to smoothly change the subject here. Are we on the third piece or the forth piece?_

_Hell if I know. I think it's the third, but I'm not positive._

_Dammit, I hope it's the fourth piece!_

_Yeah, especially because someone is totally off right now._

_No, I think that's the way the piece was written._

_It was written to suck? No, seriously, it sounds like someone is off._

_Why are female violin players such whores?_

_What do you mean?_

_Look at the girl on the end. That skirt is too short to be considered a skirt and she can't even close her legs. I don't think the point of this performance was for her to flash her fugly vag to the world._

_Maybe it was. Maybe we missed the memo and that's why we are hating this so much. It's not a concert, it's a straight man's peep show._

_Then why are the girls enjoying it so much?_

_Because they're obviously lesbos. Seriously, those girls in the front are always sitting in the lobby playing cello._

_Ah, and as we all know if you play cello you're a lesbian._

_Exactly._

_Well I'm glad we've established that._

_Indeed._

_Hey! I think that was the fourth piece because this is definitely the Pachobell piece._

_You totally misspelled "Pachelbel."_

_Whatever. This is the fifth piece, though!_

_Wait a minute...I know this piece!!!_

_I think everyone does._

_No, but this is the song that gets me mega horny._

_...seriously? Why?_

_I don't know. Same reason you get a boner for D&D. Point is you'd better get your fingers ready to help me out a bit._

_Uh, no. I don't do public places. (PS: D&D does NOT give me a boner)_

_So what the fuck do you want me to do? (And yes it does, I can tell)_

_Last I checked you've got two hands._

_Dude you fucking suck._

_Only you, I swear._

_You know I say we leave this program on the ground. Hopefully some little old cleaning lady will find it and have a heart attack._

_You are so fucking malicious._

_I said I hope she had a heart attack, not that I hope she died from it. Sheesh._

_Dude, cover yourself. Oscar Jr. is trying to pop out._

_You know you could make it go away right now..._

_NO!_

_I'll call you my Dungeon Master..._

_...deal..._

A throat cleared behind us. I turned to see the head of the music department glaring at us. Perhaps the fact that my hand was currently nestled in Oscar's groin had something to do with it. He silently motioned for us to follow him and led us out of the concert hall. After a long talk (which, on his part was more of a rant) we were banned from recitals for the rest of the year. Since we hadn't technically broken any rules (we had just disgusted him) we wouldn't be penalized for not fulfilling our recital attendance requirements.

Oscar leaned in to me on our way out and whispered, "Who knew all we needed to get out of recital attendance was a simple hand job?"

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AN: I had so much fun writing this fic, probably because the entire thing seems like it could be a random AIM conversation between me and one of my friends (and some of it probably is). Reviews rock my world! 


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